


The Many Adventures of Sherlock Holmes's Son Nero Wolfe

by Eligrl77



Category: Mary Russell - Laurie R. King, Nero Wolfe - Rex Stout, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 01:04:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2903639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eligrl77/pseuds/Eligrl77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fresh take on the Sherlock Holmes canon with Rex Stout's Nero Wolfe, Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler's son. Together with his friend Archie Goodwin, together they pick up where Nero's father left off in the roaring 1920s in New York City.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Many Adventures of Sherlock Holmes's Son Nero Wolfe

In true Nero form, the day of his funeral, riots broke out in the city. Not because of his death of course. I don’t any of those young people rioting would have even known my friend’s name. Nor would they have they known all the great things he did. Martin Luther King Jr. had coincidentally died the day before. It was bitter, cold, and damp. Just like his pops, Nero didn’t make it to his seventies. Then again, he always told me living forever would be a waste.  
“There will always be someone to catch the crooks,” he would reassure me in his letters. “Someone will always still want justice.”  
His service took place in Our Lady of Good Counsel in Staten Island. The pews were packed full of people. Most of the attendants were extended family, servants and their families, clients, and members of the police departments. They could’ve cared less if the whole city burned. Everyone showed up for Nero.  
He got the full honors. He would have been proud to hear how people spoke of him. Enough orchids adorned the place in his approval. I smiled at the arrangements around his dark cedar casket. A black and white picture hung next to him, in his wheelchair at his desk in Brownstone. A grin he rarely showed. He was always a handsome devil.  
I stuck around for quite a bit after the funeral. It wounds a man to lose a good friend. Luckily most people just let me be. Nero would’ve hated showing my emotions in public. Today however, I just couldn’t help it. The last time we were this long apart was when he went to Japan for three years. When I gave up living in the city to go live with my sister in Ohio even then, he would write me long letters & call. Mainly he would just complain about the shoddy job the police were up to. We’d laugh about old cases and stories.  
As I felt the tears in my eyes mixing with the rain, a thought came to my mind in that instant. I thought about it more as I sat in my hotel room at the Hilton Garden Inn. I was thinking so much about Nero, it didn’t even bother me to hear all those hippies with their pointless protests.  
I had never told another living soul outside of a small fraction about Nero. Writing about him would give me something to do. It would be a fantastic way to remember someone who had given me so much.  
As soon as I got home, I asked my sister Amy for an Olympia SG3 typewriter. The stories, the memories, the people, all came back to me in an instant. It was just like the good old days again.  
Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I have been reminiscing this. Nero always said his father once told him to never let his heart rule his head. Nero was right on most things, but between you and me, sentimentality was not his genes. I like to think he would be proud to know that people remember him.  
Your pal,  
Archie Goodwin  
Cleveland, Ohio  
1968

 

 

 

 

 

In the year 1913 I rushed to join the US Army. I was a restless young boy ready to leave at any excuse to being bored to tears in Ohio. The regiment was stationed in Mexico at the time. The campaign brought honors and promotion to many, but for me it had nothing but misfortune and disaster. I lost many people I called friends during that time. We succeeded in securing the Panama Canal from its enemies, but we all paid a heavy price for our service.  
I had neither family nor friends in New York City and at the time looked much more attractive to me than anything in my state. Under such circumstances I naturally gravitated to the city, that great cesspool called the melting pot. There I stayed for some time at a apartment in Manhattan, leading a comfortless, meaningless existence, and spending such money as I had, considerably more freely than I ought. So alarming did the state of my finances become, that I soon realized that I must either leave the metropolis or go back to Ohio, or that I must make a complete alteration in my style of living. Choosing the latter alternative, I began by making up my mind to leave the hotel, and take up my quarters in some less pretentious and less expensive domicile.  
On the very day that I had come to this conclusion, I was standing at Angela’s Diner on 9th street when someone tapped me on the shoulder, and turning round I recognized Bill Katz, who had been in my platoon. The sight of a friendly face in the great wilderness of New York City is a pleasant thing indeed to a lonely man. In old days Katz had never been a particular friend of mine, but now I hailed him with enthusiasm, and he, in his turn, appeared to be delighted to see me. In the exuberance of my joy, I asked him to lunch with me at the Angela’s, and we started off together in a taxi.  
"Whatever have you been doing with yourself, Goodwin?" he asked in undisguised wonder, as we rattled through the crowded Manhattan streets. "You are as thin as a plank and as brown as a nut."  
I gave him a short sketch of my adventures, and had hardly concluded it by the time that we reached our destination.  
"Poor man!" he said, commiserating, after he had listened to my misfortunes. "What are you up to now?"  
"Looking for residence," I answered. Trying to solve the problem as to whether it is possible to get comfortable rooms at a reasonable price in this city."  
"You slay me," remarked my companion; "you are the second man today that has used that expression to me."  
"And who was the first?" I asked.  
"A fellow who is working at the chemical laboratory up at the hospital. He was whining to himself this morning because he could not get someone to share his place with him in some nice rooms which he had found, and was terribly lonely."  
"Just my luck!" I cried; if he really wants someone to share the rooms and the expense, I am the very man for him. I should prefer having a partner to being alone."  
Katz looked rather strangely at me over his coffee cup. "You don't know Mr. Wolfe yet," he said; "perhaps you would not care for him as a stable companion."  
"Why, what is there against him?"  
"Oh, I didn't say there was anything against him. He is a little funny in the head – he’s confined to a wheelchair. As far as I know he is a decent fellow enough."  
"A medical student, I suppose?" said I.  
"No -- I have no idea what he intends to go in for. I believe he is well up in horticulture and he is a first-class chemist; but, as far as I know, he has never taken out any systematic medical classes. His studies are very random and eccentric, but he has comprehensive knowledge which would sure put his professors to shame."  
"Did you never ask him what he was going in for?" I asked.  
"No; he is not a man that it is easy to draw out, though he can be communicative enough when the moment seizes him or when he hears the sound of water. Not sure why though."  
"I should like to meet him," I said. If I am to put up with anyone, I should prefer a man of intellectual and calm habits. I had enough of both in Mexico to last me for the remainder of my life. How could I meet this friend of yours?"  
"He is sure to be at the laboratory," returned my companion. "He either avoids the place for weeks, or else he works there from morning till night. If you like, we will drive round together after luncheon."  
"Certainly," I answered, and the conversation drifted away into other channels.  
As we made our way to the hospital after leaving Angela’s, Katz gave me a few more particulars about the gentleman whom I proposed to take as a fellow-tenant  
"Don’t you blame me if you don't get on with him," he said; "I know nothing more of him than I have learned from meeting him occasionally in the laboratory. This was your idea, so don’t hold me responsible."  
"If we don't get on it won’t be a big ordeal," I answered. "It seems to me, Katz," I added, looking hard at my companion, "that you have some reason for not wanting to be a part of this. Is this cat's temper so difficult, or what is it? Don't beat around the bush."  
"Isn’t easy to explain," he answered with a laugh. "Wolfe is a little too eccentric for my tastes -- it approaches to insanity. I can understand how he feels, been stuck to a chair the rest of his life. I can imagine it must be hard for a kid to lose his physical capabilities so young in life. To do him justice, has a passion for definite and exact knowledge that I’ve never seen in anyone before or since. However, but it may be pushed to excess. His need for absolute control over his environment certainly can drive others away fast."  
"What do you mean control?”  
"He insists on total silence when he is thinking. I saw him at it with my own eyes."  
"And yet you say he is not a student?"  
"No. Heaven knows what the objects of his studies are. But here we are, and you must make your own impressions about him." As he spoke, we turned down a narrow lane and passed through a small side-door, which opened into a wing of the great hospital. It was familiar ground to me, and I needed no guiding as we ascended the bleak stone staircase and made our way down the long corridor with its vista of whitewashed wall and dark wooded doors. Near the farther end a low arched passage branched away from it and led to the laboratory.  
This was a lofty chamber, lined and littered with countless bottles. Broad, low tables were scattered about, which bristled with orchids strewn about. There was only one student in the room, who was sitting over a table absorbed in his work. At the sound of our steps he realized our presence. "I've found it! I've found it," he shouted to my companion, wheeling himself towards us. "I have found the reason why Daphne Schultz was murdered." Had he discovered a gold mine, greater joy could not have shown on his face.  
"Archie Goodwin, Mr. Wolfe," said Katz, introducing us.  
"How are you?" he said cordially, gripping my hand with a strength for which I should hardly have given him credit. "You have been in Mexico, I perceive."  
"How on earth did you know that?" I asked in astonishment.  
"Never mind," said he, chuckling to himself. The question now is about his case. No doubt you see the significance of this discovery of mine?"  
"It is interesting I guess," I answered, "but why…”  
"Why, not one person in the police could figure it out in the last two months. Don't you see that it gives us an idea what might the last couple of murders in downtown could be linked?” he said clapping his hands, and looking as delighted as a child with a new toy. "What do you think of that?"  
"It seems to be a very sound hypothesis,” I remarked. "Just like Christmas day! The old evidence was very clumsy and uncertain. Had I not figured this out just now, I could not link the last couple of crimes together that have been ravaging this area."  
"Indeed!" I murmured.  
His eyes fairly glittered as he spoke, and he put his hand over his heart and sighed as if he had found his true love.  
"You are to be congratulated," I remarked, considerably surprised at his enthusiasm.  
"You seem to be a walking calendar of crime," said Katz with a laugh. "You might start a paper on those lines. Call it the "Police News of the Past.""  
"Very interesting reading it might be made, too," remarked Mr. Wolfe. "I have to be careful," he continued, turning his face to me with a smile, "for I dabble with poisons a good deal."  
He held out his hand as he spoke, and I noticed that it was slightly discolored with strong acids.  
"We came here on business," said Katz, sitting down on a high three-legged stool, and pushing another one in my direction with his foot. "My friend here wants to take a roommate; and as you were complaining that you were lonely in that Brownstone of yours, I thought that I had better bring you together."  
Mr. Wolfe seemed delighted at the idea of sharing his rooms with me. "I have my eye on a place on 34th Street," he said, "which would suit us I think. You don't mind the smell of strong tobacco, I hope?"  
"A man that doesn’t smoke is a fool," I answered.  
"Let me see -- what are my other shortcomings? I pipe down for days on end. You must not think I am angry when I do that. Just let me alone, and I'll soon be right. What have you to confess now? It's just as well for two fellows to know the worst of one another before they begin to live together."  
I laughed at this cross-examination. "I keep a Mexican Mask turtle named Clyde. I found him during my time in the Panama Canal," I said, "and I object to and I get up at all sorts of ungodly hours, and I am extremely lazy. I have another set of vices when I'm well, but those are the principal ones at present."  
"Do you include the sound of water in your category of rows?" he asked, anxiously.  
"Oh no, not at all!," I answered. There are worst noises you can hear in a city such as this one."  
"Oh, that's all right," he cried, with a merry laugh. 

"I think we may consider the matter as settled -- that is if the rooms are agreeable to you."  
"When shall we see them?"  
"Call for me here at noon to-morrow, and we'll go together and settle everything," he answered.  
"All right -- noon exactly," said I, shaking his hand.  
We left him working among his theories, and we walked together towards my hotel.  
"By the way," I asked suddenly, stopping and turning upon Stamford, "how on God’s green earth did he know that I had come from Mexico?"  
My companion smiled a cheeky smile. "That's just his little habit," he said. "A good many people have wanted to know how he finds things out."  
"Oh! A mystery is it?" I cried, rubbing my hands. "This is all very interesting. I am much grateful to you for bringing us together.”  
"You'll find him a knotty problem, though. I'll wager he learns more about you than you about him. Good-bye."  
"Good-bye," I answered, and strolled on to my hotel, considerably interested in my new acquaintance.

 

 

 

 

 

 

We met next day as he had arranged, and inspected the rooms at 922 West 35th Street, of which he had spoken at our meeting. They consisted of two comfortable bed-rooms, quarters for his servants, a large greenhouse in the back, and a single large spacious sitting-room, cheerfully furnished, and illuminated. So desirable in every way were the apartments, and so moderate did the terms seem when divided between us, that the bargain was concluded upon the spot, and we at once entered into possession. That very evening I moved my things round from the hotel, and on the following morning. Mr. Wolfe was terribly sorry he could not help me with the move due to his physical condition. So for a day or two, his servants and I were busily employed in unpacking and laying out our property to the best advantage. With all said and done, we gradually began to settle down and to accommodate ourselves to our new surroundings.  
Wolfe was certainly not a difficult man to live with. He was quiet in his ways, and his habits were regular. He would go quickly to bed after ten at night, and he had been serviced breakfast in his room and gone out before I rose in the morning. Sometimes he spent his day at the greenhouse, sometimes in the local health club swimming and occasionally in long walks, which appeared to take him into the slums of the city. Nothing could exceed his energy when a case was upon him; but now and again his physical ailments would seize him, and for days on end he would lie upon the sofa in the sitting-room, hardly uttering a word or moving a muscle from morning to night. On these occasions I have noticed such a pained expression in his eyes that I suspected him of war injuries in the body and mind that had not quite healed.  
As the weeks went by, my interest in him and my curiosity as to his life, gradually deepened and increased. His very appearances were such as to strike the attention of the most casual observer. In height he was 5’3”, and lean for a man confined to a chair. One could not tell immediately his height from his chair sitting. His eyes were a myriad of color and piercing, and his thin, hawk-like nose gave his whole expression an air of alertness and decision. His hands were always blotted with ink mainly to do with being left handed. He was possessed of extraordinary delicacy of touch, as I frequently had occasion to observe when I watched him manipulating his fragile plants.

The reader may make me out to be a hopeless crush, when I confess how much this man motivated my curiosity. Before pronouncing judgment, however, be it remembered, how boring was my life, and how little there was to engage my attention. His condition made it difficult for him to venture out on a regular basis, and he had no friends who would call upon him to break the monotony of his daily existence. Under these circumstances, I eagerly acquainted myself with him, and we spent much of our time in deep discussion with one another.

He was not studying horticulture. Nor did he appear to have pursued any course of reading which might fit him for a degree in science or any other recognized portal which would give him an entrance into the learned world. Yet his zeal for certain studies was remarkable, and within eccentric limits his knowledge was so extraordinarily abundant and minute that his observations have fairly astounded me. Surely no man would work so hard or attain such precise information unless he had some definite end in view. No man in his right mind burdens with small matters unless he has some very good reason for doing so.

His knowledge of contemporary literature, philosophy and politics were first-rate. Upon my quoting William Carlos Williams, he recited to me “The Great Figure” by heart. I pondered over our short conversations, and endeavored to draw my deductions from it. I even took a pencil and jotted them down. I could not help smiling at the document when I had completed it. It ran in this way:  
Mr. Wolfe--his limits.

1\. Knowledge of Literature.--Profound.  
2\. Philosophy.--Profound.  
3\. Astronomy. -- Feeble.  
4\. Politics.—well informed.  
5\. Botany.—Genius.  
6\. Geology.—Advanced. Easily could tell me the difference in consistency of soil. He could even determine where a man had been in parts of the city by his boots.  
7\. Chemistry.--Profound.  
8\. Anatomy.--Accurate, but unsystematic.  
9\. Sensational Literature.--Immense. He appears to know every detail of every horror perpetrated in the century.  
10\. Swims well.  
11\. Has a good practical knowledge of US and international law.

When I had got so far in my list I threw it into the fire and had a good laugh. I see I have alluded above to his powers upon horticulture. These were very remarkable, but as eccentric as all his other accomplishments. He boasted he had over ten thousand different plants he was collecting in his green house. He would take time every day with his greenhouse expert Mr. Horstmann at this activity. I would see him close his eyes and breathe deeply. Taking in the delightful smells and being as he called “his mind palace.” 

During the first week or so we had no visitors. Presently, however, I found that he had many acquaintances, and those in the most different classes of society. There was one very tall, dark-eyed fellow who was introduced to me as Mr. Cramer, and who came three or four times in a single week. One morning a flapper girl called, fashionably dressed, and stayed for half an hour  
or more. The same afternoon brought a grey-headed, seedy visitor, looking homeless, who appeared to me to be much insane, and who was closely followed by a well to do elderly woman. On another occasion an old white-haired gentleman had an interview with my companion; and on another a railway porter in his velveteen uniform.  
When any of these nondescript individuals put in an appearance, Mr. Wolfe used to beg for the use of the sitting-room, and I would retire to my bed-room. He always apologized to me for putting me to this inconvenience.  
"I have to use this room as a place of business," he said, "and these people are my clients." Again I had an opportunity of asking him a point blank question, and again my stupidity prevented me from asking anymore about it. I imagined at the time that he had some strong reason for not alluding to it, but he soon cleared the air by coming round to the subject of his own accord.

It was upon the 4th of March, as I have good reason to remember, that I rose somewhat earlier than usual, and found that Mr. Wolfe had not yet finished his breakfast in his room Mr. Brenner our house cook had gotten so use to my late habits that my place had not been laid nor my coffee prepared in the dining room. With the unreasonable grouchiness I could use known for in the mornings, I rang the bell and told him that I was ready. Then I picked up a magazine from the table and attempted to while away the time with it, while my companion munched silently at his toast in his chamber. One of the articles had a pencil mark at the heading, and I naturally began to run my eye through it.  
It’s somewhat ambitious title was "Life Long Worries," and it attempted to show how bad for your health taking your troubles to sleep were. It struck me as being a remarkable mixture of silliness and of absurdity. The reasoning was close and intense, but the deductions appeared to me to be far-fetched and exaggerated. The writer claimed the subconscious mind is the hopper of a mill.  
"A large number of people have formed the vicious habit of carrying their troubles to bed with them. If they have any anxious care, any grouches, any enmities, any hatreds to indulge, they brush these all aside during the activities of the day, and carry all of them to bed with them to indulge in the luxury of hate and worry thoughts before sleep." said the writer. "All worry thoughts, fears, hates, envyings, suspicions, and jealousies are destructive thoughts and become, when builded into character by the sub-conscious, poison thoughts to injure health and happiness.”

"What hogwash!" I cried, slapping the magazine down on the table, "I never read such rubbish in my life."

"What is it?" asked Mr. Wolfe.

"Why, this article," I said, pointing at it with my spoon as I sat down to my breakfast. "I see that you have read it since you have marked it. I don't deny that it is smartly written. It irritates me though. It is evidently the theory of bored housewife."

"I wouldn’t say that too loudly if I were you," Mr. Wolfe remarked calmly. "As  
for the article I my girlfriend."  
"You’re what?”  
"Yes, I can and do have a love life despite my physical inabilities."  
"And how?" I asked involuntarily.

"Would you ask an able bodied man that same question?" he fired back sharply. 

"I’m very sorry Mr. Wolfe. I didn’t mean to assume that because you are in a wheelchair that you couldn’t have relations like any other man. That was very foolish of me.”  
"I am easily forgivable with people. I don’t expect people to understand me. I usually don’t give people chances. That is probably why I get hostile about it. I wasn’t always like this.”  
“If you would be so kind, could you tell me what took place that landed you in such a state?” There was a slight pause and then he spoke.  
“When I was only eighteen, I became a spy for the Austrian government. I was young and I had… connections within to make that happen. However but I had a change of heart when the war began. I saw terrible atrocities and corrupt justice. I then joined the Serbian-Montenegrin army and fought against the very people I had worked for.”  
“What awful burdens,” was all I could muster hearing his story. He continued onwards.  
“I was assigned to hand to hand combat. I had much strength then and I killed many men. One particular fight, a bullet hit me just about shattered my spine. The bullet is still inside me somewhere. I almost died and it is a miracle I was saved. With my life, however I lost the use of my legs entirely. I was instantly discharged and I knew I couldn’t go back to my home country. So, with some connections I was able to enter this country in exile. I am sure if I ever returned to Montenegro I would be executed.” There was some silence before he said another word.  
“Is there a chance we can speak on lighter things? It greatly wounds me to tell that story and that is probably why I tell few people about it.” 

 

 

 

“Mr. Wolfe I am terribly sorry for…”  
“Nero. You can call me that since we are in the same living quarters. I don’t allow too many people to address me with my first name. I am sure you won’t mind me addressing your name with the same regards. There is nothing you need to apologize for Archie. What is done is done and all one can do is continue on despite.”  
“You haven’t told me yet though why all of these people come to our place?” I asked meekly. Nero grinned as he spoke in response to my question.  
“Well, I have a trade of my own. I'm a consulting detective, if you can understand what that is. My father was one in London, so I guess I get that from him. Here in New York City we have lots of Government detectives and lots of private ones. When these fellows are at fault they come to me, and I manage to put them on the right path. They lay all the evidence before me, and I am generally able, by the help of my knowledge of the history of crime, to set them straight. There is a strong consistency about crime. Cramer is a well-known detective. He got himself into confusion recently over a forgery case, and that was what brought him here.”  
“What about these other people?”  
“Let me make this simple to you. They are all people who are in dilemma about something, and want a little enlightening. I listen to their story, they listen to my comments, we get the proper authorities involved, and then I pocket my fee.”  
"So without leaving your room you can unravel some bind which other men can make nothing of, although they have seen every detail for themselves?"

"I have a kind of sixth sense that way. Many times a case turns up which that’s full of complexity. Then I have to bunker down and see things with my own eyes. You see I have a lot of special knowledge which I apply to the problem, and which facilitates matters wonderfully. Observation with me is second nature. You appeared to be surprised when I told you, on our first meeting, that you had come from Mexico."

"You were told, no doubt."

“It was quite easy for me to figure out. You’re skin is a slight tanner than an average man living in Ohio. That means you were out in the hot sun for quite an extended period of time. You’re skin and eyes also have a jaundice tint to them. When you spoke you had been in Mexico, it made sense to me immediately. Malaria can be easily contacted in such an area.” 

"Yes and that is why I was discharged not long after I contacted it. I was useless in the fight if I was so terribly ill," I said, sighing. "You remind me of a Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I had no idea that such individual did exist outside of stories."

Nero Wolfe groaned at the mention as he reached in his white shirt pocket for a lucky strike cigarette and his matches.  
"No doubt you think that you are complimenting me in comparing me to Holmes as I do share his genetics," he observed.  
“You are Sherlock Holmes’s son?” I stammered. “I wasn’t even aware he had a son!”  
“He has a son and daughter. It is not a publicized fact. I keep this fact hidden even from my servants. The woman that Dr. Watson refers to as The Woman is my mother. My sister lives with our father and his wife Mrs. Russell in Sussex. When Mrs. Hudson passed away, my sister took it upon herself to be the one taking care of them. My mother’s name was changed in the stories to protect her identity. Nero Wolfe is not my real name for that same reason. It is quite embarrassing at times to be compared to a man that you know is your father.  
Now, in my opinion, Dr. Watson’s take on events are really very showy and superficial. Father has analytical genius, no doubt; but he was by no means such a phenomenon as Dr. Watson appeared to imagine. Those books made me positively ill.”

I felt rather indignant at having Sherlock Holmes whom I had admired treated in this hostile style. I walked over to the window, and stood looking out into the busy street. "This fellow may be very quick," I said to myself, "but he is certainly very proud."

“I know well that I have it in me to make my name famous without him. No man lives in this city that has brought the same amount of study and of natural talent to the exposure of crime which I have done. Yet what is the result? Once in a while some buffoon with a motive so crystal clear that even a police officer can see through it."

I was still annoyed at his arrogant style of conversation. I thought it might be best to change the topic.

"I wonder what that man across the street is looking for," I asked, pointing to a robust, plainly-dressed individual who was walking slowly, looking anxiously at the numbers. He had a large blue envelope in his hand, and was evidently the bearer of a message.

"You mean the retired sergeant of Marines," said Nero Wolfe, with a yawn. 

"Hogwash!" thought I to myself. "He knows that I cannot verify his guess."

The thought had hardly passed through my mind when the man whom we were watching caught sight of the number on our door, and ran rapidly across the roadway. We heard a loud knock, a deep voice below, and heavy steps ascending the stair.

"For Mr. Wolfe," he said, stepping into the room and handing my friend the letter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“It is our lucky day!” shouted Nero as he waved the telegram around with his hand. “There has been a murder committed in broad daylight at Cleopatra’s needle! A gift from the gods!” he inspected the telegram further.  
“No notes. Con Noonan will be at the scene also? Good heavens, I can’t work with him. I am going to need an assistant other than him.” He called out to Mr. Brenner, his cook. He came to his aid nonchalantly.  
“Brenner, please make dinner an hour later than usual for myself and Archie. There is a case for me to inspect. Finally, the police consult a professional!” He wheeled himself around to face me.  
“You’ve seen a lot of injuries during your time in the armed forces? Encountered violent deaths?  
“Sure I have.”  
“Bit of trouble too, I bet.”  
“Of course, yes. I’ve had enough for a lifetime. I’ve seen far too much.”  
“Would you like to see some more?” he grinned ever so slightly. How could I say no to him in that instant! His charm was already getting to me. It would be the first of many instances of such.  
“Oh God, yes,” was all I could get out before he wheeled out to his private elevator. I quickly followed in joining him as it took us to the entrance.  
“There’s no point being at home when there’s finally something fun going on!” he laughed.  
“The game, Archie Goodwin, is on!” he spoke again. His chauffeur, who I quickly learned was Mr. Corona, pulled to the curb in a dark blue lancia lambda. He was a strong, soft spoken, muscular Italian man. He had no hesitation as he helped Nero physically from his wheelchair into the car. I got in the seat behind Nero. We quickly were headed off to our destination. We sat in silence for a long time while Nero sat with his eyes closed.  
Our car pulled up as close as it could to the scene of the crime. Mr. Corona bolted out of the car to help Nero out of the car and back into his wheelchair. He always made sure to thank him, given the task. As we approached the scene of the crime, we were met by Con Noonan.  
“Well, well, what do we have there? The invalid made a friend.”  
“I’m here to see Detective Inspector Cramer.”  
“ Why?”  
“I was invited.”  
“Why?”  
“I think he wants me to take a look,” Nero replied in a sarcastic tone.  
“Well, you know what I think, don’t you?”  
“Always, Con.”  
“So who’s this you got with you?”  
“Colleague of mine, Mr. Goodwin,” he slightly turned his wheelchair to me.  
“Mr. Goodwin, Sergeant Con Noonan,” his voice dripped with sarcasm. “An old friend.”  
“How on God’s green earth did you get a colleague?!” Con spoke, exasperated. He shook his head beforehand and yelled loudly “Cripple’s here. He and his friend are allowed in.”  
“Who’s this?” a short, stout man with a cigar clinging to his mouth approached us.  
“He’s with me. A colleague of mine, Mr. Goodwin,” he slightly turned his wheelchair to me once more.  
“You got someone to actually work with you! That is an incredible feat I must say Mr. Wolfe. Nice to meet you too Mr. Goodwin. Let’s go to the scene,” he puffed on his never ending cigar as we were escorted to the monument. It was a grizzly scene as we approached. Dry blood covered the surrounding area. A young woman in a long black dress lay dormant at our feet. Her jewelry and crystal headwear was amazingly not removed.  
“We don’t have a name for her yet. She hasn’t been here long. Some kids found her while playing,” Cramer spoke. Nero stared at her body for quite a while. He then asked some officers to hold her in different contortions so he could carefully inspect her large head wound. She must have been out the night before, given her makeup and dress. I said nothing as Nero continued his work.  
“Got anything kid?”  
“Nothing so far,” Nero sighed. Victim is in her late twenties. She’s a Flapper, going by her clothes. The lady travelled from Brooklyn last night, intending to stay in Manhattan for one night. It’s obvious from the ferry tickets in her purse.” He eyed her slowly, taking in as much information as possible. After more silence he spoke again.  
“Her coat: it’s slightly damp. She was on the deck of the ferry in her last few hours. Under her coat collar is damp, too. We know from her ferry tickets that she was intending to stay overnight nearby, so she must have come a decent distance but she can’t have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn’t dried.”  
“So what does all this mean kid?  
“It means she didn’t die here. Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake.”  
“What’s the mistake then?” Cramer scratched his head.  
“The ferry tickets Cramer! I want you to find out who was working on the ferry on her departure. I think she was killed before she even got to this place. She is also missing a ring. Diamond encrusted in fact. The small outlines on her finger show me she never took it off for any reason. The fact that it is not there is alarming at best. It was a most expensive purchase for a working man.”  
“That is… amazing,” I praised him.  
“Really?” he snapped out of his analytical haze and stared at me in deep confusion.  
“I take it you aren’t use to compliments much, Mr. Wolfe?”  
“I guess. I am just use to being told I am up to no good.” 

Back in our comfortable domicile, Nero sat in his chair in the greenhouse. Watering his many plants, with his jacket off and his shirt sleeves unbuttoned and pushed up his arms. After some seconds his eyes snapped open wide and he stared fixedly towards his manmade bubbling brook, and then he turned toward a large portrait located out of place in the conservatory.  
“I suspect that man you are looking at is your father?” I quietly asked.  
“The most glorious sounds earth did ever produce; water. It helps me think,” he dodged my question. The pastel beak nosed detective stared down at us in silence.  
“How on earth did you figure out all that information about that woman earlier?”  
“It’s all very straightforward Archie. I did it by looking.”  
“How did you?”  
“The killer must have driven her to Cleopatra’s needle. He didn’t get rid of her purse. Nobody could be seen with a purse without drawing attention, particularly a man. Obviously he’d feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. It wouldn’t have taken him more than five minutes to realize his mistake. So I have made an advertisement and I will send it to every paper this morning.”  
He began to read to me what would soon be located in the announcement in the “Found” column. “In Cleopatra’s Needle, this morning,” it ran, “A diamond encrusted wedding ring, found near the monument in central park. Apply Mr. Goodwin, 922 West 35th Street, between eight and nine this evening.”  
“Excuse me for using your name,” he said. “If I used my own some of these fools would recognize it, and want to meddle in the affair.”  
“That is all right,” I answered. “But supposing anyone applies, I have no ring.”  
“Oh yes, you have,” said he, handing me one. “This will do very well. It is almost an exact copy.”  
“And who do you expect will answer this advertisement.”  
“Why, the ferry working man. If he does not come himself he will send an accomplice.”  
“Would he not consider it as too dangerous?”  
“That isn’t a worry for us. If my view of the case is correct, and I have every reason to believe that it is, this man would rather risk anything than lose the ring. According to my notion he dropped it while stooping over the lady's body, and did not miss it at the time. After leaving the park he discovered his loss and hurried back, but found the police already at the scene. Now put yourself in that man's place. On thinking the matter over, it must have occurred to him that it was possible that he had lost the ring in the park after leaving the scene. What would he do, then? He would eagerly look out for the evening papers in the hope of seeing it among the articles found. His eye, of course, would light upon this. He would be overjoyed. Why should he fear a trap? There would be no reason in his eyes why the finding of the ring should be connected with the murder. He would come. He will come. You shall see him tomorrow at that time.”  
“And then?” I asked.  
“Oh, you can leave me to deal with him then. Have you any arms just in case?”  
“Unfortunately I do not.”  
“Well have no fear good man,” he smiled. “I have a dandy little Remington Model 95 at my disposal. I better clean it and load it. He will be a desperate man, and though I may seem like an easy target, it is as well to be ready for anything.”  
I agreed with his sound advice. The next morning after our breakfasts, Wolfe was engaged in his favorite occupation of pruning his precious plants. 

 

 

 

 

 

A loud knock came to our front door at the exact time that Nero had posted in the papers. Mr. Hughes, our servant was quick to usher this rough looking fellow into our sitting room. Nero quickly wheeled himself in as soon as he heard the commotion. 

"Oh, sirs, you are the very man whom I have longed to meet," cried the little fellow with outstretched hands and quivering fingers as he searched his pockets for a cigarette. "I came here to get my wife Judy’s ring. That’s name John Robinson," he announced with a sidelong glance.

"No, no; the real name," said Wolfe rolling his eyes. "I like to keep an honest business around here."  
A flush sprang to the white cheeks of the stranger. 

"Well then," said he, "my real name is James Ryder."The little man stood glancing from one to the other of us with half-frightened, half-hopeful eyes, as one who is not sure whether he is on the verge of a windfall or of a catastrophe. 

“Now Mr. Ryder, you wanted to know what became of your gal’s ring?"

"Yes, mister. I spent quite a large sum of money to get it for her. Can you please tell me possibly where it was found?"

"It came here."

"Here?"  
"Yes, and discolored in blood. I don't wonder that you should take an interest in it. You took it off her hand after she was dead.”

Our visitor staggered to his feet and clutched the mantelpiece with his right hand. Wolfe playfully tossed the ring box around with his hand and onto Mr. Ryder’s lap. 

"The game's up, Ryder," said Wolfe quietly. "Hold up, man, or you'll be into the fire! Give him an arm back into his chair, Goodwin. What a coward to murder a woman who loves you."

For a moment he had staggered and nearly fallen and he sat staring with frightened eyes at his accuser.

"I have almost every link in my hands, and all the proofs which I could possibly need, so there is little which you need tell me. Still, I would like to hear how this rotten plan was started.” 

"It was all Judy’s fault. If she hadn’t been giving me the run around I would have never done what I did," he lowered his head, staring into the fire. 

"Lucky for you, you get to sit here!" said Wolfe sternly. "It is very well to cower now, but you thought little enough of poor Judy Ryder to dump her body at a park monument. We will talk about that. Let us hear a true account on this matter. Tell us the truth or I call some of my pals down to get it out of you."

Ryder passed his tongue over his parched lips. "I will tell you it just as it happened, mister," said he.  
"I’ve worked on ferries since I was a kid. My father worked on ferries and so it was kind of the family business. That was where I met Judy five years ago. She just graduated high school and was going back and forth visiting some of her gal pals. She was a real knockout beauty. I couldn’t believe when she accepted my offer for a date. I was just some goofy kid. We fell in love so fast by the end of that year, we got married. Everything was real good for a while. Something happened then, I don’t know. Over the last two years, she seemed distant, cold. Suddenly, nothing I did seem to be good enough for the dame. I started to drink more, and my suspicions grew. She came home one night in a mink coat. I could have never afforded such a thing for her. I got the feeling she was seeing someone else and I knew it. She was still riding the ferries to go see her friends. I made sure I got the shift on one of the nights I knew she’d be out. Boy, she was shocked to see me working! I told her I wanted to talk privately in the break room. She wouldn’t have it and told me she had nothing to tell. I wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Our arguing got louder and louder. The brandy sure wasn’t easing my nerves. Without even thinking about it, I grabbed her by the waist. She slapped me hard in the face. That just about did it for me. Without even thinking, I took my hammer from my tool belt and hit her on the head. I don’t even remember how many times, it went so fast. When I came to, I realize what I had done. I panicked good and found myself an extra large potato bag to put her in. I washed my face and hands so no one would suspect much. As soon as we the ferry landed, I hailed a taxi to central park. No one in their right mind goes there late at night. The first place I thought of was Cleopatra’s needle. Before I dumped her body, I went inside and ripped that ring off her finger. As I walked back to get a taxi, I threw the ring on the sidewalk. That is probably why you found it. That’s the God’s truth.” There was a long silence, broken only by his heavy breathing and by the measured tapping of Nero Wolfe’s finger-tips upon the edge of his chair. He then called to me in a loud voice.

"Archie, call Cramer!" said he. “No more words from you Ryder!" No more words were needed after such a confession. Cramer came quickly to apprehend his man and take him down the police station without much fanfare. 

"Ah, Goodwin," Wolfe sighed, reaching up his breast pocket for his lucky strike. “Another man in jail that didn’t have to be if he had just came to his senses. I am sure Judy still loved him, but she must have sensed his nature long before he did. Women are smart like that.”

A few months into my stay at Wolfe’s brownstone, I was slowly getting acquainted his servants. There were many but not as knowledgeable about Nero like Mr. Hughes. I awoke one morning after a rather long, exhausting case. I was surprised to have found Nero out early for his exercise at his health club. In the dining room, mainly due to exhaustion I was almost startled by Mr. Hughes Russian accented voice saying  
“The master has gone out for his daily swim. There are plenty of breakfast items left in the kitchen if you are hungry,” he insisted. “I will let Mr. Brenner know if you are.”  
“Absolutely, thank you. I’ll take some coffee, two sugars please.”  
“I hope you won’t mind Mr. Goodwin, The master likes a hearty Russian breakfast.”  
“Oh please! I am rather ravished from the last few days. A nice meal would be a good way to start the day,” I spoke as Mr. Hughes delicately poured my coffee into a bone china teacup. It was maybe a few minutes later, my breakfast arrived. Mr. Hughes explained to me it was very common for the master to have kasha (a type of porridge made from different grains), butterbrots (a kind of sandwich made of a single slice of bread and one topping such as butter or ham), boiled or fried eggs, tvorog (similar to cottage cheese). I thanked him for his informative explanation and helped myself.  
“Everything is delicious!” I complimented after I finished eating. “Mr. Hughes how long have you been working with Mr. Wolfe just for curiosity sake?”  
“I’ve known the master since he was a child. My father worked as a servant for his family in Montenegro. His family always took good care of us. As the master got older… his circumstances changed as you are well aware.”  
“Indeed. It must be hard for a man to lose his physical capabilities at such a young age.” 

 

“It became clear he could not take care of himself the way he could when we had his legs. The master never forgets the people who took care of him. Especially when his home country was in turmoil and it was clear it wasn’t safe. I received a telegram one day asking if I would like a job as his servant and caretaker. I would have been a fool to say no to him. At the time he was living in Egypt. Quite a change from what I was use to!” he laughed. “There was much turmoil there with the country. Egypt had its problems with the Sultan. The master worked for him for quite a while. He tired quickly of the weather and wanted a change. Not even a year after I started working for him, he decided he would move to the United States and take me with him. I am eternally grateful for the master’s kindness,” Mr. Hughes smiled as he refilled my coffee.  
“Was he always… like this?” I asked politely.  
“What do you mean sir?”  
“Well… was he always this strict in schedule and all those plants?”  
“His mother was firm with him. If the weather was warm, she liked to go to the mountains with him and his sister. He would hunt dragonflies in the mountains with his friends. The master was greatly instilled a love of nature. That is probably why he couldn’t stand Egypt for long. It was too barren for his taste. It is hard to be in a wheelchair on the busy streets of Cairo. He was in his house for most of the time.”  
“I don’t think he has told me a word about his sister yet.”  
“Victoria Isabelle is her name. She grew up to be a striking young woman. The master keeps a portrait of her in his chambers when they were children. They were very different from each other. She likes to play the violin and ride horses. She comes to see him during Christmas every year from England. I am sure you will see her if you are here long enough,” he grinned.  
“Well, thank you for telling me Mr. Hughes a little more about him. I appreciate it since I am not told much by him about his past.” 

“He is not sentimental in that regard. He suffered so much in his family and the wars. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has told anyone who works here about it either. He has wanted a fresh start for so long and now he has received his blessing. Excuse me, Mr. Goodwin but I must get ready for the master’s teatime. He will soon be back and he wouldn’t want to know this conversation took place.”  
“I understand Mr. Hughes,” as he took my dishes quickly back into the kitchen.

Finally getting around to documenting some of these cases of this in my old age, sometimes it isn’t easy to know which I should select for the public. For this reason I will now lay before the reader the facts connected with a gal, a rather striking heiress and socialite. The two of us fell in love during the work on this investigation. She later became my wife, Mrs. Lesley Goodwin. She passed on later in life due to complications with breast cancer, but the memories of her linger in my heart forever. She always knew how to take my breath away.  
I will always fondly remember year 1921 was upon that Saturday, the 23rd of April, that we first heard of Miss Lesley. Her visit was, I remember, extremely unwelcome to Wolfe, for he was immersed at the moment in his time with the orchids. My friend, who loved above all things redundant, resented anything which distracted his attention from the matter in hand. He couldn’t even refuse the lady. It was impossible to refuse to listen to the story of the young and beautiful woman, stylish, charismatic, and sweet, who presented herself at West 35h street early in the morning and inquired his assistance and advice. It would’ve been a mistake to urge that his time was already fully occupied elsewhere, for the young lady had come with the determination to tell her story, and it was evident that nothing short of force could get her out of the house until she had done so. With a resigned air and a somewhat weary smile, Wolfe obliged the beautiful guest to take a seat, have a cigarette, and to inform us what it was that was troubling her.  
“I’m surprised a gal like you would come to me for help,” said he, as his keen eyes darted over her; “most young ladies of your rank don’t have the guts to come alone.”  
She glanced down in surprise and giggled.  
“Yes, I guess I am different than some people, Mr. Wolfe, and that has something to do with my visit to you to-day.”  
My friend took the lady's hand and examined it with as close an attention and as little sentiment as a scientist would show to a specimen.

“You will excuse me, I am sure. It is my business,” said he, as he dropped it. “I nearly fell into the error of supposing that you’ve been typewriting. Of course, it is obvious that it is music. You observe the faded lines on her right hand, Goodwin, which is common for both professions? There is splendor about the face, however”—he gently turned it towards the light—“which the typewriter does not generate. This lady is a musician.”  
“Yes, Mr. Wolfe, I play music on occasion if I am asked politely.”  
“In the city, I presume?”  
“Yes, sir; New York City has been my home since I was a child. My father runs The Plaza Hotel.”  
“It is quite beautiful and always full of the most interesting folk. You remember, Goodwin that it was near there that we took Rhett Zielinski, the forger. Now, Miss Violet, what has happened to you that you need our help?”  
The young lady, with great clearness and composure, made the following curious statement:—  
“My mother is dead, Mr. Wolfe. Her name was Jean Rowan you may have read about her misfortune in the papers. There a terrible bus accident not too far from where we live. My father and I were left with folks coming out of the woodwork for her money left and right. When mother died we were already left very rich, and one day I was told that there was a tenant inquiring for my whereabouts. You can imagine how perplexed I was, for I wasn’t sure why I was wanted. My father and I went at once to the apartment whose name was given in the paper. There we met two gentlemen, Mr. Rockwell and Mr. Moffat, who were on an extended stay from Morocco. They said that my mother was a friend of theirs. It seemed strange to us these two, who took no notice of us when she was alive, should come to us now that she was dead; but Mr. Moffat explained that the reason was that they had just heard of the death of their friend, and so felt responsible for my fate.”  
“Excuse me,” said Holmes; “when was this interview?”  
“Last December I believe. It was about four months ago.”  
“Please go on Miss,” Wolfe puffed another cigarette.  
“Mr. Rockwell seemed to me to be a most revolting person. He was always bragging about his familial relations—a coarse, puffy-faced, red-mustached young man, with his hair plastered down on each side of his forehead. I thought that he was perfectly unbearable.” The young lady rolled her eyes at the very mention of his name. “Mr. Rockwell was perfectly repulsive, but that Mr. Moffat, who was a much older man, was more enjoyable. He was a dark, pale, clean-shaven, silent man; but he had overtly polite manners and a pleasant smile. He inquired that I should come and teach music to his only daughter, aged ten who also lived in the hotel. I would have turned him down as I don’t need the money, but he offered me a hundred a year, which was certainly impressive pay. It would give me something to do at least, so I ended accepting. I learned Mr. Moffat was a widower and was grateful for my services. The child was a dear, and everything promised well. Mr. Moffat was very kind. However that didn’t last for very long,” she sighed as she began again.  
“The first flaw in the ordeal was the arrival the unfortunate return of Mr. Rockwell. He came to visit him for a week, and oh, it seemed three months to me! He was a dreadful person, a bully to everyone else, but to me something infinitely worse. He made drunken declarations of love to me, boasted of his wealth, said that if I married him I would have the finest diamonds in New York City, and finally, when I would have nothing to do with him, he seized me in his arms one day after dinner—he was hideously strong—and he swore that he would not let me go until I had kissed him. Mr. Moffat came in and tore him off from me, on which he turned upon his own host, knocking him down and cutting his face open. That was the end of his visits, as you can imagine. He was barred from entering my father’s establishment again. He should’ve been thankful my father was out of town, he would’ve been a jail bird. Mr. Moffat apologized to me next day, and assured me that I should never be exposed to such an insult again. I have not seen Mr. Rockwell since.  
“And now, Mr. Wolfe, I come at last to the special thing which has caused me to ask your advice today. You must know that every Saturday forenoon I ride the subway between 42nd and 96th Street between noon and two in the afternoon. I am always going to see friends. It must’ve been two weeks ago right behind me as I was sitting I saw a man, staring most peculiar at me.  
He seemed to be a middle-aged man, with a short, dark beard. I looked back before I reached 96th street, but the man was gone, so I thought no more about it. But you can imagine how surprised I was, Mr. Wolfe, when on my return on the Monday I saw the same man at the same route. My astonishment was increased when the incident occurred again, exactly as before, on the following Saturday and Monday. He always kept his distance and did not interfere with me in any way, but still it certainly was very odd. I offhandedly mentioned it to Mr. Moffat, who seemed interested in what I said, and told me that he ladies shouldn’t travel alone, so that in future I should not pass over these lonely roads without some companion.”  
“I took his advice in stride, and I am still going about my own business. That was this morning that I turned my head when I came to 96th Street, and there, sure enough, was the man, exactly as he had been the two weeks before. He always kept so far from me that I could not clearly see his face, but it was certainly someone whom I did not know. He was dressed in a dark suit with a cloth cap. The only thing about his face that I could clearly see was his dark beard. I refuse to be alarmed, but I was filled with curiosity, and I determined to find out who he was and what he wanted. I tried to get his attention, but he sat father back reading the paper. There were a lot of people on it at the moment and I never got to see him. ”  
Wolfe chuckled and rubbed his hands. “This case certainly presents some features of its own,” said he. “Have you had any other admirers?”  
“Several before that I don’t speak to anymore.”  
“Anymore come about since those times?”  
“Gosh no! I have been too busy with my teaching to look for love.”  
“Are you sure Miss there is no one else?”  
Our fair-haired client seemed a little confused.  
“Who was he?” asked Wolfe.  
“Oh, it may be a mere fancy of mine; but it has seemed to me sometimes that my employer, Mr. Moffat, takes a great deal of interest in me. I occasionally play his music for him in the evenings. He has never said anything. He is a perfect gentleman despite his age. But a girl has intuition.”  
“Ha!” Wolfe looked grave. “What does he do for a living?”  
“He is a rich man. Well, at least he is fairly well-to-do. He is deeply interested in classical music.”  
“You will let me know any fresh development, Miss Rowan. I am very busy just now, but I will find time to make some inquiries into your case. In the meantime take no step without letting me know. Good-bye and I trust that we shall have nothing but good news from you.”

“For such a woman, there should be no surprise she should have followers,” said Wolfe, as he pulled another cigarette from his breast pocket, “Some secret lover perhaps. But there are curious and suggestive details about the case, Goodwin.”  
“What is, in that he only appears only at that point?”  
“Right on the money you are Goodwin. Our first effort must be to find who is this man? Then, again, how about the connection between Rockwell and Moffat? Why on earth are they both to be so ardent upon looking up Mrs. Rowan’s daughter? One more point. What sort of a game is this pays double the market price for a music teacher? Odd, Goodwin—very odd!”  
“What do you suggest should be done?”  
“I will be sending Mr. Panzer down. He has an excellent talent for recalling people's faces. On Monday he will arrive early at 42nd; he will observe and be our eyes and ears if you will. Then he will come back to me and report. Now, Goodwin please, not another word of the matter till then. I have orchids to prune and swimming to catch up on.”  
Mr. Nero Wolfe listened with attention to the long report which Mr. Panzer was able to present to him on Monday night, but it did not have a word of praise which Mr. Panzer had hoped for. His stern face was even more severe than usual as he commented upon the things that he had done and the things that he had not.  
“Your hiding-place, Mr. Panzer, was very faulty. You should have sat behind the cat; then you would have had a better idea. As it is you were some hundreds of feet away, and can tell me even less than Miss Rowan. She thinks she does not know the man; I am convinced she does. Why would a girl go so out of her way not to even look at this guy? You described him as bending over a cane. Concealment again, you see. You really have done remarkably badly.”  
“What should I have done?” he cried, with some heat.  
“Gone to the nearest speakeasy that is nearest 42nd street. That is the center of crime and grime. They would have told you every name of every criminal in this darn city. If he is a Hasidic Jew, he would go out of his way to not use modern things such as a subway. What have we gained by your mission? The girl's story is true. I always believed it. Who's the better for that? Well, well, don't look so depressed. We can do little more until next Saturday, and in the meantime I will make Mr. Goodwin come with you. He won’t get away with this hodgepodge again if you two on his trail.”  
Next morning we had a postcard from Miss Rowan, but for us the interest of the letter lay in the following words:  
“I am sure that you will respect my coolness, Mr. Wolfe, when I tell you that Daddy’s place here has become difficult to live in because of the fact that my employer has proposed marriage to me. I wasn’t convinced that his feelings were honorable. I told him I wasn’t interested in pursuing such a fantasy. He took my refusal very hard, but still very kindly. You can understand, the situation is a little strained.”

“Our young lady seems to be swimming into deep waters,” said Wolfe, thoughtfully, as he finished reading. “The case certainly presents more features of interest and more possibility of development than I had originally thought. I want you and Mr. Panzer to go down to the Blind Tiger. I will have a handler that will make sure you get in. I got a bad feeling about this whole business.”  
We arrived back at the Brownstone late in the evening with cut lips and discolored lump on our foreheads, which would have made his own person the fitting object of a police investigation. We were immensely tickled by our own adventures, and laughed heartily as we recounted them.  
“I get so little active exercise that it is always a treat,” said Mr. Panzer. “I guess that’s what we learned when we joined the army. We were forced to learn how to defend ourselves and each other. We sure go to do that alright.”  
Nero begged him to tell what had occurred.  
“We found that speakeasy and we got let in easily through a series of basements. There we made my discreet inquiries. We were in the bar, and a chatty bartender was giving me all that I wanted. Mr. Moffat is a dark-bearded man, and he’s been living alone for some time. There is some rumor that he is or has been a rabbi. He further informed me that he’s a weekend visitor. There is especially one gentleman with a red moustache, Mr. Rockwell by name, who was always there. We had got as far as this when who should walk in but the gentleman himself, who had been drinking his beer and had heard the whole conversation. Who was I? What did I want? What did I mean by asking questions? He spoke to us violently but his bark was worse than his bite. He ended a string of abuse by punching Mr. Goodwin hard on the right shoulder, so he was hurt a little. The next few minutes were wild. I struck that man hard in the face. We emerged as you see me. Mr. Rockwell was still lying on the ground, no one wanting to help him. So we ended our trip, and it must be confessed that, however enjoyable, we still didn’t learn all that informed about all the dealings involving these two.”

 

The Thursday brought us a letter this time from our client.  
“You won’t be surprised, Mr. Wolfe to hear that I quit being a music teacher. Even the high pay couldn’t help this situation. I do not intend to return working for anyone in the future. The dangers of the lonely subway, if there ever were any dangers, are now over. As to the special cause of my quitting, it’s not just with Mr. Moffat, but it is the reappearance of that revolting man, Mr. Rockwell. He was always repulsive, but he looks more awful than ever now, for he appears to have had an accident and he is much disfigured. I saw him out of the window, but I am glad to say I did not meet him. He had a long talk with Mr. Moffat, which included terse words and much shouting. Rockwell must be staying in the neighborhood, for he’s not allowed to stay here, and yet I caught a glimpse of him again this morning slinking about in the breakfast area of the hotel. I would sooner have a tiger loose about the place. I loathe and fear him more than I can say. How can Mr. Moffat endure such a creature for a moment? However, all my troubles will be over on Saturday, God willing.”  
“So I trust, Goodwin; so I trust,” said Wolfe, gravely. “There is some deep intrigue going on round that woman, and it is our duty to see that no one lays a hand on her. I think, Goodwin, that you must spare time to run down together on Saturday morning with Mr. Panzer, and make sure that this investigation has no dismal ending.”

I confess that I hadn’t taken the case too seriously. That a man should follow a very beautiful woman isn’t unheard, and if he had so little nerve that he not only dared not address her, but even fled from her approach, he was not a very alarming assailant. The bozo Rockwell was a very different person, but, except on one occasion, he had not harmed our client, and now he visited the hotel without intruding upon her presence. The man on the subway was doubtless a member of those weekend parties at the speakeasy; but who he was or what he wanted was as vague as ever. It was the severity of Wolfe's manner and his insistence I take his gun before leaving brownstone which gave me a feeling that tragedy might prove to rear its ugly head.  
A rainy night had been followed by a glorious morning, and the city for a moment seemed all the more beautiful to eyes which were weary of the dirt and grime. Mr. Panzer and I walked to the subway inhaling the fresh morning air, and rejoicing in the music of the birds and the crisp breath of autumn. We entered the subway car in our disguises. There was Miss Rowan, in all her glory sitting quietly. She luckily did not notice us. Right after the first stop, jumped Mr. Rockwell on the subway with a revolver. With a grasp and a scream he took her by the throat and dragged her off the car.  
“This cat is too fast for us!” cried Panzer, as I ran panting to his side running. “Its abduction, Goodwin—abduction! Murder! Heaven knows what! Let us get a cab to the blind tiger. Let us see if we can repair our mistake.”  
We had sprung into the cab, making our driver go as fast as he could. To our surprise, when we reached the speakeasy, there was her follower.  
“That's the man!” I gasped.  
The Hassidic was coming towards us. His head was down and his shoulders rounded as he put every ounce of energy like an Olympic runner. Suddenly he raised his bearded face, saw us close to him. That coal-black beard was in singular contrast to the pallor of his face, and his eyes were as bright as if he had a fever. He stared at us. Then a look of amazement came over his face.  
“Stop there!” he shouted, drawing a pistol from his side pocket. “Pull up, I say, or, by God I'll put a bullet into your brain.”  
You're the man we want to see. Where is Miss Lesley Rowan?” Panzer said, in his quick, clear way.  
“That's what I am asking you. You ought to know where she is.”  
“We met on subway. Mr. Rockwell got to her. We got in the cab to help the young lady.”  
“Good Lord! Good Lord! What shall I do?” cried the stranger, in an ecstasy of despair. “They've got her, that hellhound Rockwell and the blackguard parson. Come, man, come, if you really are her friend. Stand by me and we'll save her.”  
He ran distractedly, his pistol in his hand, into the speakeasy. We hurried to follow him. There was a series of long basement steps. As we ran downstairs a woman's shrill scream—a scream which vibrated with a frenzy of horror—burst from the walls. It ended suddenly on its highest note with a choke and a gurgle.  
“This way! This way!,” cried the stranger. “Ah, the cowardly dogs! Follow me, gentlemen! He’ll be a dead man by the living God!”  
There stood a singular group of three people in the bar. One was a woman, our client, drugged, a handkerchief round her mouth. Opposite her stood a brutal, heavy-faced, red-mustached young man his whole attitude suggestive of triumphant bravado. Between them an elderly, grey-bearded man, wearing a short surplice over a light tweed suit, had evidently just completed the wedding service, for he pocketed his prayer-book as we appeared and slapped the sinister bridegroom upon the back in jovial congratulation.  
“Oh no, they're married!” I gasped. The ex-clergyman, bowed to us with mock politeness, and the bully Woodley advanced with a shout of brutal and exultant laughter.  
“You can take your beard off, Robert,” said he. “I know you right enough. Well, you and your pals have just come in time for me to be able to introduce you to Mrs. Rockwell.”  
Our guide's answer was a singular one. He snatched off the dark beard which had disguised him and threw it on the ground, disclosing a long, sallow, clean-shaven face below it. Then he raised his revolver.  
“Yes,” said our ally, “I am Robert Moffat, and I'll see this woman righted if I have to swing for it. One wrong move, and, by God, I'll be as good as my word!”  
“You're too late. She's my wife!”  
“No, she's your widow.”  
His revolver cracked, and I saw the blood spurt from the front of Rockwell's waistcoat. He spun round with a scream and fell upon his back, his hideous red face lost color instantly. The old man, still clad in his surplice, burst into such a string of foul oaths as I have never heard, and pulled out a revolver of his own, but before he could raise it he was looking down the barrel of my weapon.  
“Enough of this,” I said coldly. “Drop that pistol! Panzer, pick it up! Hold it to his head! Thank you. You, Moffat, give me that revolver. We'll have no more violence. Come, hand it over!”  
“Who are you, then?”  
“My name is Archie Goodwin.”  
“Good Lord! You work with--”  
“Ah, you have heard of me, I see. I will represent the official police until their arrival and until they all come I must detain you all under my personal custody.”  
“What about the speakeasy? The police will find it and no one can use it anymore.”  
“It’s a good thing. Too much evil in these walls and I bet they got more stories than Gomorrah,” I shook my head.  
We dominated the tragic scene. The police found themselves carrying the wounded Rockwell to the hospital, and I gave the frightened girl to the medics to make sure she was wasn’t hurt.  
“He should live. His injury wasn’t as severe as it looked,” said I.  
“What do you mean he’ll live?” cried Moffat, his anger boiled and a few officers had to hold him back. “I'll go and finish him first. Do you tell me that that girl, that angel, is to be tied to Jack Rockwell for life?”  
“You need not concern yourself about that,” said Panzer. “There are two very good reasons why she should under no circumstances be his wife. In the first place, we are very safe in questioning this phony’s right to solemnize a marriage.”  
“I have been ordained,” cried the old rascal.  
“You were kicked out of seminary school.”  
“Once a clergyman, always a clergyman I say.”  
“I think not. How about you’re so called license?”  
“We had a license for the marriage. I have it here in my pocket.”  
“Then you got it by a trick. But in any case a forced marriage is no marriage, but it is a very serious felony, as you will discover before you have finished. You'll have time to think it out during the next ten years or so, unless I am mistaken. As to you, Moffat, you would have done better to keep your pistol in your pocket.”

 

“I begin to think so, Mr. Goodwin; but when I thought of all the precaution I had taken to shield this girl—for I loved her, Mr. Goodwin, after my wife died she was a breath of fresh air—it fairly drove me mad to think that she was in the power of the greatest brute and bully in Brooklyn. Why, Mr. Holmes, you'll hardly believe it, but ever since that girl has been in my employment I never once let her go past this house, where I knew that rat was lurking, without following her on the subway just to see that she came to no harm. I kept my distance from her, and I wore a beard so that she couldn’t recognize me, for she is a good and intelligent girl, and she wouldn't have stayed in my employment long if she had thought that I was following her.”  
“So why didn't you tell her of her danger?”  
“Because then, again, she would have left me, and I couldn't bear to face that. Even if she couldn't love me it was a great deal to me just to see her and to hear the sound of her voice.”  
“Well,” said I, “you call that love, Mr. Moffat, but I should call it egocentricity.”  
“Maybe the two things go together. Anyhow, I couldn't let her go. Besides, with this crowd about, it was well that she should have someone near to look after her. Then when the subway came this morning I knew they were bound to make a move.”  
“So you came over, the two of you, and hunted up the girl. The idea was that one of you was to marry her and the other gets a share of the loot. For some reason Rockwell was chosen as the husband. Why was that?”  
“We played cards for her on the voyage to New York City. He won.”  
“I see. You got the young lady into your service, and there Rockwell was to do the courting. She recognized the fiend that he was, and would have nothing to do with him. Meanwhile, your arrangement was rather upset by the fact that you had yourself fallen in love with the lady. You could no longer bear the idea of this thug owning her.”  
“No, by God, I couldn't!”  
“There was a quarrel between you. He left you in a rage, and began to make his own plans independently of you.”  
“Yes, we quarreled, and he knocked me down. I am level with him on that, anyhow. Then I lost sight of him. That was when he picked up with this cast padre here. I found that they had set up house-keeping together at this place on the line that she had to pass for the station. I kept my eye on her after that, for I knew there was some voodoo. I saw them from time to time, for I was anxious to know what they were after. Two days ago Rockwell came up to my house and asked me if I would stand by the bargain. I said I would not. He asked me if I would marry the girl myself and give him a share. I said I would willingly do so, but that she would not have me. He said, ‘Let us get her married first, and after a week or two she may see things a bit different.’ I said I would have nothing to do with violence. So he went off cursing, like the foul-mouthed buffoon that he was, and swearing that he would have her yet. She would be on the subway again but I was so uneasy in my mind that I followed her. I knew the mischief was done when I saw you two gentlemen at the speakeasy in the early morning.”  
I rose and tossed the end of my cigarette into the grate. “We should congratulate ourselves upon this unique case. As for you, Mr. Moffat, I think that you have done what you could to make amends for your share in an evil plot. There is Mr. Wolfe’s card, sir, and if our evidence can be of help to you in your trial it shall be at your disposal.”  
Each goes quickly into another, and the crisis once passed remains forgotten. I find, however, it wasn’t easy to forget Miss Rowan. A weeks after her ordeal, we went on our first happy outing. We were married happily not too long after. Moffat and Rockwell were both tried for abduction and assault, the former getting seven years and the latter ten. Of the fate of Moffat I have no record, but I am sure that his assault was not viewed very gravely by the Court, since Rockwell had the reputation of being a most dangerous gangster, and I think that a few months were sufficient to satisfy the demands of justice.

A couple weeks after that unfortunate case, I finally got around to calling Miss. Rowan for a date. She was surprised by my offer, but she quickly accepted. After asking the permission of her father, and him meeting me at Brownstone, it got the clear. To my astonishment, Wolfe was perfectly fine with me using his lancia lambda to pick her up at a quarter to five.  
Lesley greeted me at the hotel lobby in a champagne satin gown with rhinestones in a matching colored mink with gloves. If my breath was taken away just from our first meeting, it was sure out of my system now! Mr. Rowan was there to greet me to make sure his daughter’s safety would be taken care of. After I once again reassured him of our timed return, we were set free back into the car.  
“I’m so sorry Daddy is like that. I think he is still a bit frightened about what happened. I haven’t been able to go out alone in ages”  
“I understand Mr. Rowan’s concern. As a father I am sure he is just looking out for his little girl.”  
“I do want to thank you Archie and Mr. Wolfe for all of your help. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to thank you earlier.”  
“It’s alright Lesley. We have a whole night planned out and you won’t have to think of your safety once. Mr. Corona is an especially excellent chauffeur.” We smiled at each other as we headed into the dizzying lights of the city.  
We first headed to the Oyster Bar at Grand Central. We drank plenty of oysters and expensive wine, chatting about ourselves. Lesley was positively radiant finally being able to get out of the hotel. We conversed about our childhoods, which both couldn’t have been any farther apart. I told her about Ohio farms and she told me about the grueling hotel business. Despite our differences, we have a wonderful time.  
It was then off to the Daly's 63rd Street Theatre for the new musical “Shuffle Along.” We both roared with laughter along with the other folks. I’m sure the people around us didn’t appreciate it but we could have cared less. It was my first time seeing a show of this sort and my first being in an audience of integrated kind. It didn’t bother Lesley not one bit. She explained to me during the intermission she was use to all kinds of folk at her hotel. She told me plainly race had no matter to her. She believed people were either good or bad, and race had no play into it. Her perspective was pretty enlightening considering where I came from. We enjoyed watching the comedy and dances. Her favorite was the grand finale “African Dip.”  
“What a silly and fun little play! I may have to try the African dip sometime myself when my father isn’t around,” she laughed in her sweet voice as we headed home after the show and right on time. Mr. Rowan was in the lobby pacing, as Mr. Corona pulled up to drop off Lesley. I was quick to help her out of the car, so her pretty dress wouldn’t get dirty.  
“I hope you had a great time tonight,” I said before we got to the lobby doors.  
“I did. Maybe next time I can see the brownstone you talk about so much with Mr. Wolfe. Sure he wouldn’t mind a visitor.”  
“Well Lesley… I’m not so sure about that. Mr. Wolfe can be a hot and cold kind of fellow. I am sure he would show you all ten thousand of his plants and all the Latin names for each of them.”  
“I will be a botany expert by the end of our visit I’m sure,” she giggled, wrapping her mink tighter around her.  
“I hope I can see you again Lesley.”  
“Of course you can see me again silly. I’m not going anywhere. I got to cut out since Daddy is here. Good night Archie I had a wonderful time,” she smiled and waved to me, cheeks all a glow. I got back in the car feeling goofy and smitten.  
“Quite a girl isn’t she Mr. Goodwin?” Mr. Corona smiled.  
“She has to be the prettiest lass in this entire city,” was all I could reply at the moment.  
“You sure caught yourself a good one. Her papa’s doing quite well for himself.”  
“Oh the money doesn’t matter. She is so pure and has such a good heart. I’m glad none of those rascals from our case have tainted her.”  
“Well Sir, I’m sure it wasn’t just coincidence you two found each other you know. I only believe in miracles,” he laughed heartily as we headed back to the brownstone.  
Lesley and I did not see each other again till after thanksgiving. I briefly went home to my family in Cleveland, Ohio. I invited Mr. Wolfe to come with me, but he insisted on being alone. I felt terrible leaving him there, but at that point I was missing Lesley more than I was missing any of the late night cases that would await me first coming back.  
Coming back to Ohio was sheer boredom. I quickly understood why I left for the Army. My younger sister Lucy as usual wanted to know everything about life in the big city. She asked if I had met any famous folk. I told her unfortunately my work was very confidential, even to little sisters. Mother of course made every good meal I liked and I couldn’t resist. I told a small, very condensed handful of stories about my cases and Mr. Wolfe. I helped with duties for my papa around. Milking cows and lifting hay at the rise of dawn was much harder than catching a criminal any day of the week. I sure got my exercise and was outright exhausted by day’s end. I was certainly the talk of the dinner table and would continue to be. I was sad to leave, but I knew where I was meant to be. It sure wasn’t to be a farmer’s son. I returned with a few pounds lost and my heart ready to see Lesley again.  
Lesley had been away as well. She traveled with her family to Cooperstown with her family, for vacation and fresh air. We were both excited to see other after the long holiday and the melee of Christmas carols and parades beginning to appear. Our next visit at brownstone would lend itself to another case to coincide with the holiday. This time it would be an unexpected family affair of Wolfe.

December crept up quickly on us in the city. It would be a surprise to our readers to know that Christmas brings out the most of our cases. You see, anytime closest to major holidays is when trouble starts. Christmas however brings out the most cans of worms. My first Christmas with Wolfe was no different.  
The servants were always quick to decorate the place in bright red and greens. Wolfe hated the holidays, but I had a secret feeling he did enjoy them. We had a small, but commendable tree in our sitting room. I was always fully adorned with pine cones, angels, and little glass flowers to Wolfe’s liking. Poinsettias sat on either side of the chairs in our office. I would like to think we were always the most festive on our block.  
On one particular day, an old woman came to the door. Mr. Hughes answered the door, since both Wolfe and I were chatting with a client. He briefly interrupted our session with another client to tell us of this person.  
“Go deal with it Goodwin. How rude of such person to come unannounced? Don’t people know I have office hours and they just can’t waltz on in whenever they fancy?” Wolfe complained and he insisted I see whoever this person wanted. I politely excused myself to the front door.  
What greeted me on our front steps rather shocked me. An old woman, covered in rags and a black shawl. She could have looked at least over eighty. Her sweet but ragged face looked up at me in penitence.  
“Dear Sir, would you be so kind to let me in? I would like to speak with Mr. Wolfe if that is possible?” she spoke meekly with a Russian accent.  
“Why Mr. Wolfe is busy with another client at the moment. I am sure we can accommodate you depending on your need of course.”  
“I’m very cold from the storm. Would you be so kind to let me in while I wait for Mr. Wolfe?” she asked sweetly. How could I say no at that moment to such a person? I sighed and let the woman into our waiting area. She quickly sat down near the warm fire in one of our chairs.  
“Would you like something to drink? I know the winter has been brutal as of late. I’m sorry for my behavior. Mr. Wolfe likes people to come at an orderly fashion.”  
“Tea would be lovely, Mr. Hughes,” she smiled at our butler. I sat there in shock at her response.  
“How do you know Mr. Hughes?” I looked puzzled at her.  
“Oh it’s very easy,” her accent changed almost immediately as she spoke. It changed from a sweet Russian to a harsh Montenegrin. As she did she began to pull at her face. To our surprise and horror, her face had been a rubber mask. Here sitting in front of me was not an old woman at all. It was a beautiful woman, with long raven black hair. Piercing eyes and a paleness that instantly reminded me of someone else I knew.  
“What a visit from the past this is Queen Arch,” Mr. Hughes bowed to her in reverence at the sight of her.  
“What is the meaning of this? Why put on a disguise?” I tried not to raise my voice too loud to not interfere with Wolfe’s client. Tea was served immediately followed with tea cakes and cookies.  
“Why not put on a disguise? You let me in didn’t you? I keep forgetting he usually has friends who lack his intelligence. The poor boy,” she sighed as she drank her tea. My face grew piping red, but I tried to ignore speaking harshly since she was nobility. Fragments of my first conversations with Nero came back to me. I sat back in my chair stunned.  
“Why didn’t you show your true face before? You must be…”  
“Ah, maybe you are smarter than I imagine Mr. Goodwin. I am Queen Lola Arch. I am also privately known in popular literature as…”  
“Irene Adler.”  
“Yes, what a pathetic boring name to be remembered by. Dr. Watson surely had no imagination in his selection of aliases. I am here to see…”  
“Mr. Nero Wolfe?”  
“That is what he calls himself?” she laughed as she bit down on a chocolate cookie. “His real name is Augustus William Arch. I guess he wanted something more exotic. He was after all named by my grandfather.”  
“How did you know he lives here? He tells no one his exact address, not even the people he works for.”  
“You forget I use the very same methods that are ingrained in him. I choose not to do detective work. I am a queen and that is a full time job within itself,” her polished and delicate hands poured herself another cup of black tea, adding milk and stirring the silver spoon counter clockwise. “He must be very busy these days.”  
“This is New York City there is always crime and corruption. Does anything like that happen in your kingdom?”  
“Oh yes, that is why I am here. My life is in danger. I could tell my son I would be coming. He would have shut the door on me. Luckily he lives with someone who is not susceptible to such acting,” she giggled. At that moment Nero wheeled himself to us, volcanic red and fists clutched. He said not a word. Staring at our surprise visitor with a look of hate and disgust I had never seen in him before. Even for the worst of criminals he never acted such. His lips quivered as she rose from her seat.  
“Are you going to greet your mother?” she raised her arms to him.  
“Why did you come here?” he quietly raged.  
“Why wouldn’t a mother want to visit her son? It has been far too long since I saw you. I haven’t seen you since… the war. I didn’t know you lost your ---”  
“I didn’t tell you anything because all you cared about was I fought on the German side and not the Serbian one.”  
“That was Viktor’s problem. It wasn’t mine. He has died now not too long ago. All the problems with the war got to his poor heart. Losing two children he loved so dearly nailed him in his coffin.”  
“You told me I was dead to you. Then to rub it in my face, you told me he wasn’t my real father. Don’t you know you saying that did to us? Let me guess, all you cared about was being someone’s courtesan!”  
“Enough Augustus!” she yelled at him the way a mother would yell at her child. “I am your mother and you will respect me while I am here,” her eyes scolded him as she sat back down in her chair.  
“Why have you come?” he shook his head. “Have you come to mock me? If you are, I want you out of this house.”  
“Believe it or not Augustus, I am not,” she searched her dress pocket and found a gold plated cigarette wallet with a matching lighter.  
“Then why are you here then?”  
“I need your help. I don’t come to you as a mother. I know that you don’t think of me that way. Treat me like a client. You allow yourself day in and day out to hear the problems of others. Can you do that for me?” her voice begged him.  
“Why didn’t you callback your lover and ask him?” he spat.  
“You know Sherlock Holmes never wants to see me again. He has moved on with his wife. I hear is with Mrs. Mary Russell. I hear they are crime solving all over together. I hear Victoria resides with them. She is too sentimental for my taste. She is much better off with them than with me.” Nero didn’t acknowledge her reply, staring at the blazing fireplace.  
“Nice to know you still use spies to do your dirty work O Queen Arch. So why have you come here?”  
“As long as you don’t anger me again, I will tell you everything,” as she began her story.

“Augustus, you must understand,” said Queen Arch, passing her hand over her ashen forehead, “you must understand I have come incognito from Morocco for the purpose of finding you. After Viktor’s passing and the war, I grew sick of Montenegro. I only came there to seek exile, not be ruler. I spend most of my time in Morocco and only appear in Montenegro for appearances’ sake. I will do my best to condense my tale. Some years ago after Viktor’s death and you and Victoria leaving, I made a lengthy visit to Poland, I made the acquaintance of Joseph Stalin. He took great pity on me with my husband’s death and my children leaving me.”  
“Do you have any idea who that man works for?” Wolfe groaned.  
“Are you going to listen to my story or not?” she shot back.  
“Go on,” he yawned.  
“There was a great uprising in Poland as we met. He tried his hardest to bring communism to Georgia and had failed. Now he was desperate to have Poland fall under his grasp. Only to have it fail miserably. I went back to Montenegro alone for meetings and parties. He went back to Russia completely defeated. He resigned from his military command. I thought we had spent a good time together and I had hoped he had thought the same.”  
“What changed?” I asked.  
“I received a government letter one morning from the Communist party. Trotsky criticized him for not being able to do what his government told him to. His response was a woman had distracted him from his duties. He did not name me publicly, but he has made me his enemy. Of course I was terrified. I stayed in my country and I made sure security was right. I even knew that someone could slip through the cracks if they wanted and kill me outright. I told members of my cabinet that I was going on extended holiday to Israel. I disguised myself as you saw here, as an old woman and boarded a ship coming here. I was able to fool all the authorities coming here and no one questioned my fake passports and letters. I’ve been staying at the Plaza Hotel for the last few days. I was able to overhear a conversation stating where you lived.”  
“It must have been with one of those darn maids. They can never keep their mouth shut,” I rolled my eyes.  
“When you are desperate to survive Mr. Goodwin, you do anything in your power to keep it that way.”  
“What if I don’t help you?” Wolfe said outright.  
“Don’t? Well let’s see, a few possibilities…” sarcastically in tone. “I will probably be shot by firing squad in Moscow or sent to Siberia for the remainder of my unfortunate life. That is just the injustice that will come to me without your involvement.”  
“And your punishment for me will be?” greeting her with the same enthusiasm.  
“I will happily appear at your wonderful Christmas party you have with your little family. I am sure Mr. Holmes would love to see me again. He owes me many dinners.”  
“He would rather see you in Siberia any day. He has clearly moved on with his life. He has not said one word to you in years. Why would you force yourself onto him now?”  
“If you won’t help me, I will just have to go to Sussex and make a little visit.”  
“I won’t let you.”  
“You didn’t answer my question Augustus. Are you going to help me or not?” There was a moment of silence. I looked at Wolfe for a reaction and it was hard to read his face. Instead of answering her, he picked up his watering can.  
“I am going to water my plants. I will make a decision later. Mr. Hughes, tell Mr. Corona to take the Queen out to get some decent clothing. I will not have royalty stay here in rags,” he shook his head as he went to his greenhouse.  
“Excellent Sir, come Queen your chariot awaits you,” Mr. Hughes took her arm in arm.  
“I forget what a great servant you were. I should have kept you in Montenegro when I had the chance,” she smiled as he escorted her to the waiting car.  
If our first dinners together weren’t any more gauche, Queen Arch (she insisted I call her Lola during our duration together) made it ever the more tedious. She had vowed that she wouldn’t leave the premises till her safety was fully insured. It set my friend dearly on edge and I was sure he was now smoking two packs a day. He spent much more time away from the brownstone than usual. I didn’t have the heart to tell the Queen that it wasn’t all his health appointments or cases, but I think she was smart enough to know where he might be. Cases with my working with him stalled for me at that present time. My main duty was to keep safe and occupy the Queen. Which for me at times it could be quite the handful. I was not use to having our clients stay at our domicile. However, it gave me much access to ask her more than I could usually.  
Despite the rude awakening this was for Wolfe, she was a polite, gracious guest. The Queen confided in me much in those days about her times spent in England and Montenegro. I didn’t know if half of the things she told me were truth or lies. I got the impression she exaggerated most things and hid the important facts. Regardless of her ways, I was intrigued by her tales of deception and passion. I could easily understand why Doctor Watson would want to include such a woman in his writings. She was easily a woman that could charm and make him do whatever she wanted, regardless of task.  
One crisp morning while we both had coffee and Wolfe was off hiding away from his mother, the Queen asked how I met her son. I explained briefly that it was through a close friend of mine from the Army days.  
“What a lucky draw,” she sipped her tea. “Out of all the men you could’ve bumped into the world, it would happen to be my son.”  
“Does that bother you at all?” I asked.  
“Of course not, I am glad someone like you met him. I am just surprised someone would help him. He always thinks he has no friends. Even when he was a child he believed such.”  
“That is certainly not the man I have come to know in the Brownstone.”  
“He wouldn’t feel that way now because he has you. He can’t talk to orchids and servants the rest of his life. I am glad he learned that,” she smiled as she added some more milk into her cup.  
“I just have to ask you, why did you wait so long to tell Nero and Victoria who their father was? Why keep the deception up as long as you did? Did you not know they would be easily angered by such knowledge considering they had spent most of their lives thinking Viktor Arch? I am sorry to be so direct, but I must ask, given Nero’s disapproval of you.” There was a short silence between us as she pondered the question. Her eyes briefly lost the zest and spark her face usually carried.  
“I knew seeing Mr. Holmes again would mean our time would be over. The hiatus of his wasn’t all that long. He would stop being dead and return to his former life. I was insanely bored during my marriage to the king. I had only gone to Montenegro to hide from the British authorities. I didn’t expect it to be a permanent residence. I felt trapped in my circumstances. Seeing Mr. Holmes again was a pleasant surprise from the past.”  
“I understand, but that doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell them?”  
“I wanted to be a good mother to my children. I did everything I could to shield them from my past and my misery. Unfortunately Mr. Goodwin, the misery won. The king was all about our son fighting in the war. You can imagine the shock he felt when our son deflected and joined the Germans. He was livid and I had to stand there agreeing with every word he said, no matter how false or bitter. The war never mattered to me that much. What men do to each other has no bearing on me. I am too busy trying to survive in my own skin to care. It is unfortunate Augustus thinks that I did feel that way. It hurt to not see him all these years. Even if I had to disguise myself, it was worth it. I saw my son before I died,” speaking between puffs of her viceroys.  
“Are you going to tell your son any of that?”  
“Most likely not, as I could tell him this and he still won’t believe a single word I say. All he understands is that no one helped him when he needed someone. You can’t teach a child everything Mr. Goodwin.”

“She is driving me insane!” Wolfe huffed inside the greenhouse. It was a rare event that I was invited inside it. I could understand it was mainly due the duress my friend was under. This conservatory of his was his only place he could get away from her. “I feel like a prisoner in my own house. If she thinks this has been a wonderful Christmas gift, she is sorely mistaken.”  
“Wolfe, all she wants is to be able to go back to her home country. Obviously this must be a serious affair if she couldn’t even get any old friends to help.”  
“Well, believe it or not Goodwin, I gave a personal visit to Mr. Oustinoff. He is the current USSR consulate here in the city. It pained me to talk to a communist, but what is done needed to be done. We composed a letter to be sent to Moscow. We should be hearing shortly from the embassy. Then our nightmare will be over,” he sighed.  
“A fellow came earlier with a telegram for you while you were at the health club,” I handed him a small letter. He quickly snatched it from my hands, expecting it possibly to be about his mother. His eyes quickly dimmed into a dark state and he groaned.  
“This is not the letter I was hoping to receive!”  
“What is it?”  
“It is from my sister. She, Sherlock, and Mrs. Russell will be coming to the brownstone for Christmas. Oh this is dreadful.”  
“Cheer up, what an exciting time the holidays will be. I am sure you have missed seeing your family.”  
“It will be a discomfited affair. I have never met my biological father before. Victoria seems to have no problem with him. I am not sure how I will react upon seeing him.”  
“Understandable but I am more than happy to be hosting the Sherlock Holmes of London. Outside of Mr. Hughes, do you think anyone else will see the similarities?”  
“I hope not Goodwin. Leave me alone back to my plants. I like them much more than I like any humans,” he turned his chair back to continue watering them delicately.  
Overnight, a telegram had reached us from the embassy, apologizing for the matter which involved Queen Arch. So in the dead of night, she took her belongings and quickly left our dwelling. She was greeted by a private ship that would take her safely back to Montenegro. There were no goodbyes or exchanges between the two. One was certainly happier to be rid of the other. As her ship left the harbor in the early morning hours, Wolfe stared for quite a long time at it till it was not seen anymore. I don’t know what he may have thought. We went back to the Brownstone and to bed without another word muttered. Dawn was beginning to creep in at our return.  
Two days later Wolfe was in a dark mood, more so than usual. I am expected him to be almost jovial, given the circumstances of his mother. He did not come to the sitting room as he did daily when he was done his breakfast in bed. As Mr. Hughes passed, I beckoned him to why Wolfe hadn’t come out yet. He told me plainly, he was despondent in grief. Knowing this wasn’t like my friend, I knocked on his door, asking him if I could come in. The door was unlocked and he let me proceed in.  
Wolfe was still in his nightclothes. His eyes red and watery I took from crying. His skin even a more ghastly pale than I was accustomed to. On his bed, sat the morning newspaper and silently handing it to me. In it was the following article:  
“PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND, NOVA SCOTIA - An unidentified female was found in the ocean Thursday has been identified as Queen Arch, 71, of Montenegro according to a spokesman.  
According to the state police spokesperson, Arch's death is considered suspicious and foul play is suspected. The incident remains under investigation. The spokesman Mr. Jeffery Shiner the official cause of Queen Arch's death will be determined by a medical examiner. Marine Patrol, along with the Canadian Coast Guard, responded to a sighting at 2:13 am on Wednesday shortly after Queen Arch was first seen in the ocean off the North Atlantic Ocean.”

No more at that point was spoken of her or the events that followed. Christmas was creeping on us quickly and last minute cases became a priority. Wolfe never wore his heart on his sleeve usually, keeping his emotions to himself. I understood all too well about losing loved ones and I gave him space. Time flew fast and like a flash it was the day before Christmas Eve. Princess Arch, Mrs. Mary Russell, and Sir Sherlock Holmes arrived to the brownstone. It was a colossal event for his family. Wolfe hadn’t met him before and the feeling was tense. I, however, was star struck to meet one of the most well known detectives in all of Europe. The servants felt the same way, as who hadn’t read of his cases?  
We did as best as we could to make the brownstone as festive as could be. Mrs. Russell took a liking to me immediately. We ended up deep in a long conversation about India with Victoria chiming in politely every now and then. Tea, hot chocolate, and Christmas cookies were served near the fireplace. I couldn’t stop thinking how much she and Mr. Holmes were alike. I could see why he would pick such a young woman over the one we had met previously. She was kind and gracious, as was Victoria as well. She did not share her brother’s temperaments. We spoke at length about beekeeping and how different life in Sussex was compared to Manhattan.  
What I was really waiting for however was Lesley. She promised to arrive at the house after evening mass with her family. Wolfe at first was not sure about bringing her over, but I assured she would be welcome. I thought she could also break some tension in the household. She could distract the other ladies easily into conversation while I find out what was going on with Wolfe and Holmes.  
She came to the house right on schedule in a dazzling red dress with a green belt. Wolfe didn’t notice her at first, but he did notice what was in her hands. She informed us she had made Priganice (Fritters or flat doughnuts) and they each inside had fillings of honey or jam. This impressed him, because he happily ate one in her presence, reminding him of childhood.  
“That is my gift to you Mr. Wolfe and merry Christmas,” she smiled so sweetly. At that moment I made sure to introduce her to Mrs. Russell and Victoria. They were quick to start a conversation while I went to look for Wolfe. I found him hiding in the hothouse, with a twirl of smoke around his head, staring idly at his plants.  
“Sherlock’s here. Aren’t you going to talk to him?” I asked. “I mean he did come all the way from England to see you. Isn’t that worth anything?”  
“I am not ready to see him. I am not exactly in a jovial mood either.”  
“Well I’m sorry…” was all I could get before our guest, Sir Holmes intruded on us.  
“Ah! I had a feeling you were interested in plants. All I had to do was look at your hands and know you spend much time here. How many do you have?”  
“Ten thousand,” he replied with absolutely no enthusiasm in his voice.  
“I should leave you two alone. I don’t wish to intrude,” I made my way close to the door.  
“Please, do stay Mr. Goodwin. I should consider you a friend. You remind me much of my old friend Dr. John Watson. He sure didn’t understand who he made an agreement with when we resided at 221B Baker Street. I am sure you didn’t either with Augustus…”  
“I call myself Nero,” he gritted his teeth  
“I don’t talk to people with their aliases. You read my cases enough to know that.”  
“It’s what I choose to call myself. Augustus has been dead since he joined the Germans. It is not like you knew Augustus either,” he laughed sardonically.  
“If that will improve our relations, then I will call you Nero.”  
“Thank you,” he was quick to light up again.  
“I… heard about… Lola,” Sherlock tried getting his words out.  
“I don’t want to talk about her.”  
“I think you do. I can read it on your face. She is much in your thoughts. She has been gone for days and she is still guilt tripping you.”  
“So it didn’t guilt trip you that you had a son and daughter?”  
“I was fooled into her game. Don’t you see? She didn’t just lie to you. She lied to me as well. I would have continued to have not known our lineage had it not been for your sister. A maid in your household was on her last days. Victoria was with her and she confessed to secret knowledge. It was there she was told the truth. As soon as she knew, she contacted us and left Montenegro. I couldn’t have visited you if I wanted to; you were fighting in the war.”  
“Actually, I was paralyzed in a medical drug induced state for months on end as they tried to fix me. A visit would have been nice.”  
“War is a dirty business. That was more of my brother Mycroft’s area and not mine. I am sure if he was still alive, he would have bent over backwards to make sure you were taken care of properly.” There was some silence before Nero spoke again.  
“Tell me how you would feel if you realized that the person you loved the most was a sociopath, who’s only goal in life was to tease and destroy other men? Having a father who only cared about the needs of his kingdom and not his children?” the rage seemed to burst out of him. What I had not realized was that Sir Holmes had something behind his back. As Nero yelled curses, he started to play his violin. It was a long piece he announced from Mozart’s mass in C minor. At first, it immediately silenced Nero. Then it was almost like he was having a fit. “Stop this noise! Stop this noise!”  
“I won’t stop playing till you calm down.”  
“Who on earth taught you how to play?”  
“I did and now I am an expert.”  
“Of course you are. Now I understand why you are this way.”  
“What on do you mean… Sir Holmes?”  
“Music was played to you when you were punished wasn’t it?”  
“Yes, mother did,” Nero eyes widened at the realization.  
“Ah! I see what she did to you. It was because of me it was dear Nero. It was her cruel way of revenge for leaving her with a pompous buffoon.”  
“You know actually Holmes?”  
“What Nero?”  
“You don’t sound so bad after all,” he smiled for the first time in many days as we watched Sherlock play a private concert for us. For once, father and son could be in the same place and know of it.  
The surprises weren’t fully complete yet. On Christmas morning, as we all opened our presents for each other and we noticed large boxes behind the tree. The servants insisted they did not put them there. They were delicately signed for each of us. Sir Holmes could have told us straight away these were written from the hands of Queen Arch, but he chose not to at the moment. We found out for ourselves in astonishment. The following was contained in each:  
Sir Holmes: A photograph of Queen Arch in Morocco, presumably before she departed for the United States.  
Mrs. Russell: A gold bound copy of The Babylonian Talmud: Tractate Berakot by Abraham Cohen. She exclaimed he was a close relative, but she had not known about her connection to him until fairly recently.  
Victoria: A black and silver evening gown from Callot Souers in France. With a small note enclosed, telling her to not do anything her mama had done.  
Nero: A check in deutsche marks that clearly ended in many zeros. He did not speak about it further and quickly taking it into a safe without further questioning. I would only found out many years afterwards. After a pleasant next few days and as they traveled safely back to the United Kingdom, we were quickly back to work just as before. Wolfe did not mention the visit ever again, but he did occasionally play a violin piece on the gramophone located in the orangery. I would like to think he privately made his peace with that part of his life.

I am afraid, Goodwin, that I have a case that I will need for help with,” said Wolfe, at the Brownstone.  
“What’s the case?”  
“It is in Historic Richmond Town. To be exact, it is Decker Farm. I suspect you will be meeting Mr. George Williamson.”  
I wasn’t surprised as it was the one topic of conversation through the city. For a whole day my companion had lectured at me heavens knows what, Smoking his lucky strikes continuously, and absolutely not wanting to hear any of my questions or remarks. Lon Cohen kept us updated, since he was always our pipeline in crime news. He was a journalist at the New York Gazette and was our eyes and ears for us. Mostly we would hear about it as we would play poker.  
As silent as Wolfe could get, I knew perfectly well his eccentricities. There was but one problem that challenged him, and that was the disappearance of the favorite for the National Horse Show, and the murder of its trainer. When, therefore, he suddenly announced my intention of setting out for the drama it was only what I had both expected and hoped for.  
“I certainly don’t mind going there but who is going to come with me?” said I.  
“You’re doing me a great favor for going. I don’t think that your time will not be wasted, for there are points about the case which promise to make it an absolutely unique one. Mr. Corona I believe is getting Mr. Panzer. You will be leaving for a bus at Pennsylvania Station.”  
So it happened that an hour or so later I found myself in the corner of a coach bus Mr. Panzer en route for Historic Richmond Town.  
“I presume that you have looked into this matter of the murder of Robert Mildred and the disappearance of Above and Beyond?” asked Mr. Panzer.  
“I have seen what the Times have to say.”  
“I know from Wolfe on Tuesday evening he received telegrams from both Colonel Frank, the owner of the horse, and from Inspector Cramer, who is looking after the case, inviting our cooperation.”  
“Tuesday evening!” I exclaimed. “And this is Thursday morning. Why didn't he have us go down yesterday?”  
“Sounds like Wolfe made a blunder. He spent all yesterday expecting to hear that the horse had been found, and that his abductor was the murderer of Robert Mildred. When, however, another morning had come, and he found that beyond the arrest of young Howard June nothing had been done, so I guess he felt that it was time for us to take action.”  
“I guess he’s formed a theory, then?”  
“At least we have a grip of the essential facts of the case.”  
I lay back against the cushions, puffing at my cigarette, while Panzer gave me a sketch of the events which had led to our journey.  
“Above and Beyond,” said he, “holds as brilliant a record in these parts. He is now in his fifth year, and has brought in turn each of the prizes of the turf to Colonel Frank, his happy owner. Up to the time of the catastrophe he was the first favorite for the National Horse Show, the betting being three to one on him. He has always, however, been a prime favorite with the racing public, and has never yet disappointed them, so that even at those odds enormous sums of money have been laid upon him. It is obvious, therefore, that there were many people who had the strongest interest in preventing Above and Beyond from being there at the fall of the flag next Tuesday. Everyone knows where the Colonel's training-stable is located. Every precaution was taken to guard the favorite. The trainer, Robert Mildred, is a retired jockey who rode in Colonel Frank's colors before he became too heavy for the job. He has served the Colonel for five years as jockey and for seven as trainer, and has always shown himself to be a zealous and honest servant. Under him were three men and the establishment was a small one, containing only four horses in all. One of them sat up each night in the stable, while the others slept in the loft. All three bore excellent characters. Robert Mildred, who is a married man, lived in a small cabin about two hundred yards from the stables. He has no children, keeps one maid and one servant, and is well off. In every other direction the farm is a complete wilderness nothing like this city. Such was the general situation last Monday night when the cataclysm occurred. On that evening the horses had been exercised and watered as usual, and the stables were locked up at nine o'clock. Two of the boys walked up to the trainer's house, where they had supper in the kitchen, while the third, Billy Hunter, remained on guard. At a few minutes after nine the maid, Edith Baxter, carried down to the stables his supper, which consisted of a dish of beef stew. She took no liquid, as there was a water-tap in the stables, and it was the rule that the lad on duty should drink nothing else. The maid carried a lantern with her, as it was very dark and rainy. Edith Baxter was within thirty yards of the stables, when a man appeared out of the darkness and called to her to stop. As he stepped into the circle of yellow light thrown by the lantern she saw that he was a person of gentlemanly bearing, dressed in a gray suit. He carried a heavy stick with a knob to it. She was struck by the nervousness of his manner. His age, she thought, would be rather over thirty than under it.”  
“‘Can you tell me where I am?’ he asked. ‘I had almost made up my mind to sleep on the around these parts, when I saw the light of your lantern.’  
“‘You are close to the Williamson training-stables,’ said she.  
“‘Oh, indeed! What a stroke of luck!’ he cried. ‘I understand that a stable-boy sleeps there alone every night. Perhaps that is his supper which you are carrying to him. Now I am sure that you would not be too proud to earn the price of a new dress, would you?’ He took a piece of white paper folded up out of his pocket. ‘See that the boy has this tonight, and you shall have the prettiest gown that money can buy.’  
“She was frightened by the earnestness of his manner, and ran past him to the window through which she was accustomed to hand the meals. It was already opened, and Hunter was seated at the small table inside. She had begun to tell him of what had happened, when the stranger came up again.  
“‘Good evening,’ said he, looking through the window. ‘I wanted to have a word with you.’ The girl has sworn that as he spoke she noticed the corner of the little paper packet protruding from his closed hand.  
“‘What business you got here?’ he asked.  
“‘Its business that may put something into your pocket,’ said the other. ‘You've two horses in for the National Horse Show—Above and Beyond and Amber. Let me have them and won't be a loser. Isn’t that a fair deal?’”  
“‘So, you're one of those damned thieves!’ cried the lad. ‘I'll show you how we serve them in Williamsons.’ He sprang up and rushed across the stable to unloose the dog. The girl fled away to the house, but as she ran she looked back and saw that the stranger was leaning through the window. A minute later, however, when Hunter rushed out with the hound he was gone, and though he ran all round the buildings he failed to find any trace of him.”  
“One moment,” I asked. “Did the stable-boy, when he ran out with the dog, leave the door unlocked behind him?”  
“Good point!” murmured my companion. “The boy locked the door before he left it. The window, I may add, was not large enough for a man to get through.”  
“Hunter waited until the trainer and told him what had occurred. Mildred was excited at hearing the account, although he does not seem to have quite realized its true significance. It left him, however, vaguely uneasy, and Mrs. Mildred who was unable to sleep, found that he was getting ready to leave early in the morning. In reply to her inquiries, he said that he could not sleep on account of his anxiety about the horses, and that he intended to walk down to the stables to see that all was well. She begged him to remain at home, as she could hear the rain pattering against the window, but in spite of the pleas he pulled on his jacket and left the house.  
“Mrs. Mildred awoke at seven in the morning, to find that her husband had not yet returned. She dressed herself quickly, called the maid, and set off for the stables. The door was open; inside, huddled together upon a chair, Hunter was drugged, the favorite's stall was empty, and there were no signs of his trainer.  
“The two lads who slept in the chaff-cutting loft above the harness-room were quickly aroused. They had heard nothing during the night, for they are both sound sleepers. Hunter was obviously under the influence of some powerful drug, and as no sense could be got out of him, he was left to sleep it off while the two lads and the two women ran out in search of the absentees. They still had hopes that the trainer had for some reason taken out the horse for early exercise, but on ascending the knoll near the house, from which all the neighboring moors were visible, they not only could see no signs of the missing favorite, but they perceived something which warned them that they were in the presence of a tragedy.  
“About a quarter of a mile from the stables was a bowl-shaped depression near the farm, at the bottom of this was found the dead body of the unfortunate trainer. His head had been shattered by a savage blow from some heavy weapon, and he was wounded on the thigh. It was clear, however, that Mildred had defended himself vigorously against his assailants, for in his right hand he held a small knife which was recognized by the maid as having been worn on the preceding evening by the stranger who had visited the stables. Hunter, on recovering from his stupor, was also quite positive as to the ownership of the knife. He was equally certain that the same stranger had, while standing at the window, drugged his beef stew, and so deprived the stables of their watchman. As to the missing horse, there were abundant proofs in the mud. But from that morning he has disappeared, and although a large reward has been offered, and no news has come of him. Finally, an analysis has shown that the remains of his supper left by the stable-lad contain an appreciable quantity of powdered opium, while the people at the house partook of the same dish on the same night without any ill effect.  
“Those are the main facts of the case, stripped of all surmise, as told to me by Wolfe. I’ll now tell you what the police have done in the matter.


End file.
